Zaara stood at the entrance of the prison, hoping that they would let Veer out at least today. Her eyes looked as far as they could see, gleaming with love. And hope. As usual, the sun set and she walked away slowly. The prison guards noticed her, but nobody spoke to her. Nor did she. She came in everyday for the last twenty years, waiting for Veer to walk out of the gate as a free man. Veer was the love of her life. Being an Indian on foreign soil, he was arrested when he had come to ask for her hand. Zaara was not allowed to meet him, a promise she had made to her orthodox father. Yet, she came in everyday just to check if he was set free. She did not intend on meeting him, she wanted to honor the promise she had made to her late father. She wanted to see him only once. She would live the rest of her life with the memory of that moment.

Guards had changed in the past two decades, yet every new guard knew her story.

"I feel for her, man. I really do." One guard told the other.

"I know, me too. She is just living with the hope that someday he will walk out free." The second one replied.

"Do you think we should tell her?"

"No, this is the only hope she has, to live."

Both of them watched her walk away until her silhouette disappeared with the fading sun. They knew she will be back tomorrow. Nobody had the heart to tell her that Veer had never been arrested or held in prison. He was shot dead by Zaara's father, twenty years ago.

You know, some powers are not limited to James Bond or mutants alone. And well, not only to machines too. Some people have an X-ray vision, such that, if you stare at people for long enough, you would be able to see through their clothes. And more often than not, these people put this power to test.

Jokes apart, have you ever felt a man's gaze fall on you so much, that you begin to feel naked? Or a lady staring at you in such a way that you might as well as be naked? Man, at times I am so tempted to gouge out the eyes of such people. Everyday I face this harassment as I wait to board an auto to my office. Thanks to the Bangalore auto drivers, I need to stand on the street for at least five minutes before I find an auto that will drop me to the office at the meter price. Those five minutes are living hell to me. I'm usually dressed in formal pants and shirts, or salwar kurtas. Yet, eyes scan me like I am standing stark naked on the street. Although its mostly men who stare, there have been quite a few ladies too. They look at me from top to bottom and some of them seem to be amused by my toe rings or the vermilion on my forehead. Yet, they continue to stare.

Its not about wearing revealing clothes these days, the rule seems to be that if it is a girl, you need to stare. Not only me, I have seen so many women and young girls going through this harassment. Eve teasing is something else altogether, but leching is really disturbing. Its makes you feel like an object displayed in a glass box. Some men look at you in such a way that you can actually feel the undressing going on in their minds. Brigade road of Bangalore is one street that I hate to visit because of this. There will be a thousand women out there dressed in various attires, and everyone gets stares from a different person in a different way. A girl with a shirt and jean will get the same looks as that of the lady in the micro shorts. Its disgusting if you think of it. Just because you wear modern clothes, people would stare at you. And who defines the term modern by the way? I have seen men lech at saree clad women too. So who is supposed to draw the line here?

Such people are disturbing. I remember feeling almost naked when I was in Delhi. I was wrapped up in a stole in peak summer, just to avoid those lecherous stares. And yet, it did not stop. I was wondering if they were looking at me because I was an outsider, read alien, or because I was a girl in general. The stares creeped the hell outta me. My husband had to create a barrier around me with his hands as I walked the lanes of our national capital. The others girls who were being stared at did not seem to mind much. Some made faces that clearly told that they were used to such things by now. Maybe this is the scene everywhere, every state and in every city. But what do the people who are staring, getting out of this?

Its not like you scan me from top to bottom and I jump into your arms the next minute. So what exactly are those people getting? Am I expected to remain a filament of their imagination within their minds? Don't you think that is more scary than it sounds. I feel icky every time a random stranger states at me. Some people don't even look away when you catch them staring at you. That gets more creepier. Sadly, we do not have a solution to that. Because of course, you can't pick a fight just because someone is looking at you, can you?

I was a very chubby kid, with plump cheeks and a round belly. And then I grew up! After the age of three, I grew tall and the weight distributed itself along my length making me skinny as hell. I was lesser than a size zero and no matter how much my mom tried, I was not able to put on weight. I, on the other hand was more than happy with myself. I did not care about what people said or what advice they gave. Some people automatically assumed that I was thin because I came from a middle class family and that we couldn't afford to eat much. No kidding. I stayed skinny for twenty five years. People advised my parents on calorie rich food, protein shakes and what not. Even though they did not care about what people said, when people rub it on their faces they start giving a little damn. While some were ridiculing me for being thin, some envied me to no end. There were rumors about how I was on a constant diet to remain thin. Yeah right! For those who know me, they know one thing. That is I eat like a pig. I love my meat and my vegetables and I haven't gone on a diet even for a single day. No matter what I ate, I never put on a gram. And people hated me for that. I did not care. At all.

Then suddenly it all changed for ever. One day I felt my that my jeans was too tight and it was making me feel uncomfortable. A few days later, it did not fit me at all. The next day, I checked my weighing scale. I was eighteen kilos heavier. Yes, you read that right. Eighteen kilos. I panicked. Not because I had gained weight, because it was all of a sudden and I had not realized it all. Smartly I went in for a medical test wondering if it was thyroid. People with thyroid tend to put on weight day by day and I was worried. The tests came negative. The second test revealed PCOS. My sister had the same condition before me, so it did not come in as a surprise. I was on a sabbatical from work for four months and during this period all I did was eat, read and sleep. This sudden change of routine spiked up my hormone levels and it completely changed my body. Me being stick thin before helped, as what showed on the weighing scale did not reflect on my body. It made me look normal instead of anorexic. My parents and boyfriend were very happy with this change. They thought I looked more healthy and happy. And then it all began.

People who called me skinny earlier, suddenly started passing snide remarks about my weight. A relative had the audacity to tell me that, all that I ate during my earlier years, was showing on my body now. Others started assuming that I was gaining weight because I was having sex. How ever is that connected I am not aware of till date. That is when I realized that people are very shallow. They have their comments no matter what. First they humiliate you because you were thin. Then the same people make it seem like the world's end because you put on weight. Bloody freaks. Of course I did not go around telling everyone that I had a medical condition and hence the weight. Like they would understand. Close friends knew and very more than happy with the change and even advised me to stay healthy to battle PCOS. Not one of them asked me to lose weight. They asked me to maintain my current weight and work out. And so I did.

I was at my heaviest during my wedding and there were crazy rumors doing the buzz. Funnily, it did not matter to me all. By now I had realized that people will talk no matter what. I've had friends who turned from potato sacks to size zeros and think that they rule the world today. I know obese people who still get humiliated and fear stepping out of the house. I know of chubby kids who are picked on at college. The self confidence of such people is a size zero. And the people around them are the ones responsible for it. Humanity has long ago got replaced with vanity in this world. And until you have a perfect figure and flawless skin, you will be considered an outcast. I see kids these days starving themselves to death. Some even take up smoking because they live under the impression that smoking helps them lose weight. Shallowness seems to be the in thing these days. Its a sad and desperate world out there. I'm glad my self confidence remained intact from my skinny days to my healthier days to my fattest(to other people) days.

(That is me, before and how I am today)

My doctor still tells me that I need to lose about eight or ten kilos. Not because I am fat, because it will help me battle this condition. When I told my parents and in laws that I need to lose weight, they laughed it off. But they became vary when I told them it was what the doctor had advised. So now, I'm trying to lose my weight, so that I can get rid of PCOS. And not because I am shallow and want to flaunt an enviable body. I am vain to a certain extent, but I will never ever do something because people around expect me to do so. Fat or stick thin, I shall remain the same me from within. Read this, you will know what I mean.

For some reason I absolutely love the word trespassers. I like the way it sounds, giving the person saying it a stylish accent. I have been aware of this word for quite a while now, but it caught my interest only a while ago. I have never had the chance to include this word as part of a conversation (apparently I did once, but I cannot remember). Thanks to all the attention that people are giving to my life these days, I feel like I should carry a placard with me that says 'Trespassers will be prosecuted'. I do not like interference any where. Be it in my professional life or personal, unsolicited advice or opinion is not something that I will take lightly. If you have managed to trespass and enter my area, the best you do is shut up. Quietly watch what is happening and leave. If you decide to ask unnecessary questions then be prepared to hear a mouthful.

I like silence. I like to do things by myself without having anybody around. Especially at work. Most of my writing happens at work, so when some of my colleagues pass by my desk they peer to see what I am doing. "Oh you write?", "Is that your blog?", "Send me the link now", "What are you writing about?", "Let me see." etc etc are only some of the things that I have to witness everyday. I do not mind the questions as much as their eyes peeping into my laptop and trying to read the words. It annoys the living day lights out of me. I mean how hard is it to leave a person alone. I tell them that I shall send them the link and that they can read it once the post is published. Yet, some people refuse to remove their nose for my screen.

Trespassing is a bad thing, be it in the literal sense of otherwise. If someone needs something, they will come to you right? Who is asking you to jump into their lives to find the problem and then try to find a solution for it. Once this colleague was crying in the washroom. This is how the scene unfolded.

I wanted to just disappear that minute. In fact I did. I left the place and do not know what happened after that.

The only place where I like people asking questions are at work and in meetings. But there are more than enough people on this planet who open their gobs for every small thing trespassing into every territory in their vicinity. These kind of people, I loathe. I am an extrovert myself who is known to talk nineteen to a dozen. But I talk, do not ask. There is a difference. The craziest breed that I have met are the beauticians in salons. My god, those ladies are extremely irritating. They want to know everything happening in your family and what you are going to do next. And they do not know where to draw the line. My parlour lady once asked me when I am planning to have a baby. I said not any time sooner. She then smiles and says, "Good, enjoy with your husband until then." I wanted to plunge her own scissors down her throat.

Everyone should be aware of their limits. I do not go on discussing my sex life with everyone I find. And then there are those people who talk and explain about every single thing that happened in their bed room last night. Dude, are you aware that you are trespassing on someone else's dis-comfort area? I'm sure not. We all have trespassers in our life who need to be reminded of their limits. Some people I know peep into other peoples phones to check what they are doing. I mean, seriously? I had this friend of mine who once visited my place and wanted to check all my clothes. No kidding. She walked up to my cupboard and started pulling out all my clothes and checking them out, even trying a few. Needless to say that we are not friends anymore.

According to me, all trespassers should be prosecuted without leaving any survivors. We owe it to ourselves.

I am a narcissist. I am always obsessed with the clothes I wear or the way I do my hair. My husband once challenged me to not look into the mirror for fifteen minutes. I lost. Its not like I am God's gift to mankind, but I try my best to look good. I do not know much about style and fashion, I'd leave it to the wonderful fashion bloggers like Chandana. But I have my own unique sense of style and I'd stick to it. Earlier when I was stick thin, I liked wearing denims, T-shits and sneakers. They highlighted my frame neatly and helped me balance the tomboy and feminine look with a single outfit. I was a size 'XS' back then. At times I wouldn't get clothes my size in brands. Until I was twenty five, I remember shopping in the clothing section of kids. Yeah, embarrassing much. Once I started work, I had to steer a bit towards formal dressing. That is when I stepped into Westside for their Indian wear. The 'XS' kurta hung on me like an 'XL'. Yet, I bought them and had my tailor tuck in more than half the fabric. Life is not easy for a skinny girl.

Then the unexpected happened. Hormonal imbalance made me drift from an 'XS' to a size 'M". When you have been skinny all your life and when you suddenly see your clothes not fitting you, it is nothing short of depression. I had to give out my entire wardrobe to charity. Twice. It was only after I put on weight that I developed a sense of style. Or rather took it more seriously. I developed it mostly to hide my problem areas. I am aware of the latest fashion trends and follow only those that suit me. Baggy pants or palazzos are something that I would never wear. When the skinny jean revolution happened, it took the world by storm. I still am swimming in it. I cannot imagine wearing trousers that do not fit me tight. It maybe completely psychological, but I have never been able to let go off my skinny jeans. Even at a size 'M' I have a decent body, and since I am a tall person, the weight doesn't show much. I wear clothes that suit my body type and not just because it is in fashion. My hips are my problem areas and hence I stay away from tight tops. I have bid my goodbye to t-shirts too. I more often than not, now, wear free flowing fabrics that do not highlight my hips. I show off my toned legs with skinny jeans but I like to remain modest at the top.

The reason I am writing this post is because I feel that everyone should have their own sense of style. And not only blindly follow trends or what ever appears in the next issue of Cosmopolitan. For people with heavy thighs, skinny jeans is a no no. My style mantra has always been one thing, 'Dress according to your body type'. I have seen people struggle with tight jeans where they would not be able to sit or stand right. Then there are those people who wear tight tops showing off their fatty layers underneath. It is not appealing at all to the human eye. At least mine. Colored jeans are still in, but I think that we have had enough of those neon shades. Orange and yellow pants are so passe. If you still want neon to be a part of you, use it in your nail paint or accessories. Talking about accessories, have you seen those people who match everything on them. I am a sucker for bags and shoes, hence I buy them in pairs. And I match them with one piece of clothing. Else I go monochrome and use the color as a highlight. But then there are those people who match their top, shoes, bags, belt, bangles, watch, hairband, nail paint, eyeshadow and if possible some other things. I once saw this girl who looked like a giant aubergine, reeking of purple.

And then come the uber cool machas of Bangalore. I don't mind colored pants on men, but colors like pink and orange are a bit too much for a guy don't you think? And those scarves, the checkered ones; I see men wear it in peak summer making them look like the long lost successors of Yaseer Arafat. And those guys who wear sun glasses after sun set, wow, I applaud you! I do like fashionable guys, the ones who groom themselves well and have an individual sense of style. But not the ones who apply fairness creams and go for facials every fortnight. Jeez, what ever happened to balls. And do not give me that metro sexual shit. Men are supposed to be like men.

The most troubling part of fashion these days is the basic one. Lingerie. Who ever invented those transparent plastic bra straps must be stoned to death. It looks so cheap and tacky that it takes off the focus from whatever the girl is wearing. There is a strapless bra right? Why not use that and save yourself from the humiliation. Those straps are anything but transparent and shine bright when light falls on them. And the ladies who wear jeggings and tight skirts, please make use of seam less underwear. I do not want your panty line thrown on my face as you try to surrender to the clingy fabric wrapped around you. These are the basic things that people tend to ignore. I personally invest more in lingerie than I do on clothes, because believe it or not, it takes the right lingerie to get that perfect look.

Look at your body in the mirror and identify your problem areas. Hips, thighs, arms, stomach, breasts etc. Pick up clothes that help you hide them. After a couple of trials at a store, you yourself will be able to identify what suits you best and what you feel comfortable in. Screw the current trends. If you so badly want to wear the latest trend then pick up a fabric and get it stitched the way you want to, so that it flatters your body and does not scream out loud. An individual sense of styles defines you as a person and is noticed by everybody. No matter how much people say that beauty is internal, the first impression is always made, based on what is outside. If you are uncomfortable in what you are wearing, it shows on your face irrespective of that impeccable make up.

Style is what you create for yourself and how you present it. Fashion and trends come later.

When I started blogging, I visited a lot of other blogs to read their content. I followed the ones I liked and politely left the ones I did not. Some of them came back to my blog via my profile and followed it. Some of the new followers dropped in comments saying that they were a new follower hinting that I should follow them back. Some I did, because of the amazing content on their blog and the others I did not. The ones whom I did not follow, promptly came back to my blog and unfollowed. True story. Now, I hardly realize who followed or unfollowed, but back then when I had just 4 or 5 followers I could easily make out who came and left. That is when I realized that life somehow is based on the Return on Investment or the ROI concept.

People left kind words as a comment hoping to get back something in return. People followed my blog wanting me to follow them back. Well, why should it work that way always. I, being the honest fool, always choose to leave honest comments and only follow blogs that I can connect with. But sadly, not everyone feels the same. One day a friend of mine told me that I looked very pretty. I smiled and thanked her. She kept looking at me like as if expecting a return receipt. I in turn, asked her how her husband was. She turned red, but had to answer my question. Well, if you do or say anything expecting something in return, then isn't it better to not say or do anything at all? If people seriously want words out of others' mouths to feel good or better about themselves, then I have a whole new word for them. Losers.

Expectations always ruin things. A blank slate is any day better than a half written one. With expectations come disappointments which leads to angst and frustration. Not a good thing at all.

Some people do things, only to get something in return. The best proof being weddings. "Oh they gave us a gold chain, we should atleast give them a bangle. Else it will not look good." While the other is thinking, "We have given them a gold chain, they should give us atleast a earring set". Eventually both get disappointed. The same thing happens in many other situations too. Its really funny if you think about it. Once, someone left a comment of my Facebook post saying that it was well written. I got a notification of it on my phone. Two days later, when I logged into Facebook, the comment was gone. The person apparently got offended that I did not acknowledge his comment. Jesus Christ!

When I started writing, I would feel nice about new followers and comments because everyone wants their writing to be appreciated. But later on, writing became a way of life for me. I did not care much about comments and followers. Even today, the comments and followers remain the icing on the cake where as writing is a passion for me. Life is fairly simple. People complicate it with expectations, returns, profits, values etc. All these words make sense only in financial investments and not the day to day ones.

Investments need not be only about money. When I'm taking the effort to write something for you, I am investing a certain amount of my time for it. Without expecting anything in return. I am just leaving a thought of mine without any strings attached. I do not expect you to come back to my blog and comment or follow. I remember a recent blog I came across. The lady there visited and left a comment on my posts only when I did on her posts. If I miss to leave a comment on one of her posts, she will do the same. If I leave a comment, she will come back to do the same. Stupid juvenile crap. I stopped visiting her altogether, inspite of the fact that her writing is actually good. Her irrational behaviour kinda irked me.

Be good, if you have to get it in return you will. Else, let it be. Expectation ruins things, be realistic. And at last but not the least, stay true to yourself. Others are always secondary.

I have been waiting for 'Q' to talk about this movie. There is nothing outstanding about Kangana Ranaut starrer Queen, and that is what makes the movie work. The movie is not only for feminists, it is for everyone and for all ages. By now everyone knows that the movie is about a girl jilted at the alter and how she takes off alone to her honeymoon. Some call it a coming off age movie and the movie is exactly that, to a certain extent. For me, the movie was something that would make people believe in themselves. No matter how young or old, no matter educated or not. The movie mainly works because of its supporting characters and not the protagonist alone. The cast adds the necessary drama and humor to every frame, especially Rani's brother and father. This is not a review, it is a celebration. Queen undoubtedly is one of the best movies I have seen in a really long time. Bollywood and other languages included.

My pointers from the movie:

~ Lisa Haydon. She was brilliant and is the second best thing in the movie. The ease with which she portrays the role of a single mother, having random sex with her boy friends is something out of this world.

~ Rani's character. She travels from India to an unknown country, but she is not shown as a village belle. She knows English and is willing to eat the monstrous fish that she mistakenly orders. She is not shocked by Vijaylakshmi's lifestyle or by people kissing on the streets. She is totally fine with it. Reminds us that she is well educated too, but is not allowed to work by her ex-fiance.

~ I loved the way how the mehendi in Rani's hands fade as she discovers herself and lets go of her past.

~ The scene in which she stands up on stage for the 'Hungama' track. Her facial expressions as she dances is mind blowing. This, to me, defined freedom.

~ The scene in which she tries to run away from the Eiffel Tower is a beauty too. Running away never helps she learnt.

~ She makes friends with different sets of people, without judging any of them. She even stays with three men in a single room without an element of sex or anything vulgar included. Wow.

~ I felt that the gol-gappa scene was a little over the top. Too bollywoodish.

~ The scene in which she meets her ex-fiance and talks to him casually about his shirt. That shows that she still has not forgotten him, for what so ever reasons.

~ Her innocence as she picks up gifts for her parents from the sex toys shop is worth applauding. The scene shows simplicity and this is what is exactly called innocence and not ignorance.

~ She does not turn into someone modern and stylish. She remains her conservative self but tastes freedom in her own way. High point of the movie.

~ The last scene when she hugs him and thanks him for helping her discover herself. Her gait shows confidence and lets the audience know that she has found herself.

~ However the best part of the movie remains that it was not too melodramatic or tear jerking. Nobody makes her feel like her life is over or that she is jinxed. They all support her in what ever she wants to do. This is exactly what a family is expected to do.

It is just the beginning of the year and a lot more movies are to come, but Queen has definitely made a place for itself in my heart.

She looked beautiful. The tight blouse highlighting her breasts and tapering down to her svelte waist. Her face shone and her lips looked ripe in red. She ignored the crowd and did not rush behind cars like the other girls. She liked to feel important, hard to get. It worked, as most of the men flocked to get a piece of her.

She took her time to make her choice, promising others the next night for a double pay. She felt like the queen as she walked towards the nearby car. Her gait was filled with pride. But she knew the truth herself.

Colors have only begun to make an appearance in my life recently. For a really long time I was this black and white person. I always saw things only in black and white and that was the philosophy of my life too. It was nothing to do with my state of mind though, but people seemed to think so. And I let them make their own assumptions of me. Most of my clothes were either black, white or a combination of both. My blog also was the one with a black background. It's not like I hated colors or anything. I just did not feel the need to have colors around me. Actually, I never even thought about it.

It all changed about three years back. I slowly started bringing in colors to some elements here and there. If I have to wear a color on me, I first try it in the form of a nail polish. I take my own sweet time to get used to the color and then pick up a piece of clothing. I know I am weird, but this always works for me. Of course not all nail enamels make it to being a top or a pant. Neon colors were reserved for nails alone. I love the bright pop of colors, albeit in smaller doses. I wear almost all colors now, but one color that I haven't made my peace with yet is Orange.

I don't know what it is about this color that disturbs me so much. It gives me a headache to be precise. No, not only the bright saffron ones. Anything with a hint of orange is enough to tick me up the wrong nerve. I spent a bomb on an orange nail paint, just to get used to the color. It turned out to be so bright that people at work started making fun of me. As I saw my finger tips type on the laptop, I wanted to peel my nails away. Needless to say, this nail color never saw the light of day again.

Apparently, the color orange has a freeing action upon the body and mind, relieving repressions. But it seems to work the other way for me. I don't mind the fruit as much, but the color any where else hurts my eye. Being a ferocious fire sign, most people find it hard to believe that I do not like orange. Such a soothing color they say. The color lime soothes me and the color yellow makes me happy. Orange takes away the effect of both.

While reading about this color I came across this:

"A person who has an aversion to orange may have suppressed sexual feelings or other difficulties with sensual enjoyment of life. The attitude can also be over-sensual, indulgent, or too materialistic."

Hahahaha. So anti me. I am not saying anything more.

Purple comes a close second in terms of a disturbing color. Again, I have no clue why. Am I the only one or do any of you too have problems with colors?

If you want to know more about the influence of colors, visit this site.

I was nine, when it happened for the first time. He came to my room with something in his hand, while I was fast asleep. He woke me up with a kiss. I remember slightly opening my eyes and smiling, as I saw my favorite uncle in front of me. He was my dad's elder brother. He pampered me a lot and always got gifts for me. But this time the gift was different. I looked closer to see what was in his hand. Something was shining against the dim moon light. I sat up and saw that it was a syringe with a long needle.

"What happened?" I slowly slur.

"Sshhh... You will not know anything." He says and plunges the needle into my arm.

The next day, I woke up without my pajamas. I was bleeding between my thighs and the pain was excruciating. I was unable to sit up as I look around the room for help. My uncle walks in with a wide smile on his face. I look at him with fear.

"So baby, did you feel anything?" He asks with an evil grin.

I begin to cry in fear and pain. He rushes towards me and covers my mouth with his hands. He takes out another syringe from his pocket.

"You make another noise or tell this to anyone I shall kill you with this." He says brandishing the needle in front of my weary eyes.

I stop crying and he lets me go. He pushes me back into the bed and rapes me for the second time. I lie motionless, scared of the needle, without a sound. Ten minutes later, he leaves.

This continued for years. My parents and his wife were killed in a car accident and he had no other choice but to take care of me. My grand parents lived in another city and I was too young to travel by myself. He took care of me in every way possible. He put me in the best schools, got me the best clothes and celebrated my birthdays in style. But every night, the beast in him awoke. I could have told my teachers or friends about this. But I did not want to. I wanted to handle it myself. When I reached puberty, he got careful. Along with the needle, he carried a condom. He did not understand that getting me pregnant was not the only problem here. Soon, I developed a phobia towards needles. I did not take any vaccinations and hence was always prone to illness. He took me to the best doctors and got me the necessary medicines, yet did not spare me even for a night.

I decided to put an end to this after my graduation. I was twenty one and all alone. I felt the need to move on. I hatched a plan and neatly executed it. The next day, my uncle was found dead. I called my neighbors who called the cops. They closed the case thinking that it was an insulin overdose. Only I knew what was in that syringe.

So now I was alone and paranoid. Any pointed object scared me. I ran away from chop sticks and forks. Any medication was taken orally. When I couldn't take it any longer I decided to overcome my phobia. On my twenty second birthday I gathered all my guts and walked into a tattoo salon. I got 'Survivor' inked on my arm. It did not hurt much. Somehow the pain set me free. A month later I came back for the second tattoo. This time it was 'Hope'. Tattoos helped me erase my pain. Suddenly, needles became a passion that gave me a new lease of life.

Today with thirteen tattoos on me, I'm the number one tattoo artist of my city. Every day I walk in to my studio with pride, which holds the board 'Needles'.

My parents are dark, so if I was born with a fairer complexion, it would have triggered more suspicion than joy. Yet, I was ridiculed for not being fair. I remember a cousin of mine placing her hand next to mine and asking me to notice the difference. I just stared blankly while she roared with laughter. I did not feel bad for myself. I was wondering what was she laughing about. What was she seeing that I couldn't? Obviously there was a difference in the color of both our hands. But what is so great about it? Should I be concerned or depressed, I did not understand. I knew that she was trying to mock me. Some people feel good about themselves only when they put others down, so I let it be. I was about eight years old at that time. Twenty years later, that incident still remains fresh in my mind.

As a teenager, I had a terrible case of acne. I knew it was a passing phase, so I did not bother to do much about it. But the people around me never let me be. Everyone from aunties to neighbors came up with remedies for pimples. I remember a particular relative (not sure how we are related), who always used to ask me what I was doing for my damaged skin. She always asked this in front of a group of at least six people who stared into my face like I was a mutant with seven pairs of eyes. I was angry of course, but my parents had taught me to respect elders, so I kept quiet. I believe most of the growing up, mentally, happens during your teens. And with people like this around you, who make you feel like dirt, it is very hard to feel good about yourself. I did not take it too much to my heart. I decided to not turn into some one like her instead. Till date if I meet someone with zits on their face or anywhere else, I do not ridicule them or advise them. I just let them be.

I turn twenty eight in four months, yet I'm battling acne. Chicken Pox during my teens has left deep scars on my cheeks. And the rest of it is ruined with PCOS. Hormones are creating havoc within me and ruining my skin or whatever is left of it. You'd think that I would be depressed? Actually no. It does not matter to me at all. I'm going through some condition and the acne is because of that. I have accepted that and I know that someday it will all be gone. I can easily get all of it cleared up by going under the knife and almost instantly. I make more than enough money for that too. But I choose not too. I like flaws and scars. They remind me of my journey and my struggles. That keeps me grounded.

I discovered make-up in my early twenties. They helped me hide my scars and bumps. And the people who were ridiculing me before suddenly started appreciating me. Some even asked for tips. I wanted to laugh my ass off. That was my introduction to vanity. In parlors I see almost white people coming for bleaches, some coming for de-tanning, some coming for skin lightening, some coming for some magic facial that will make your skin squeaky clean. I do not do any of that. I am happy with my own flawed skin. All I need is some make-up that would give me necessary coverage and make me look good. To others. For me, I look awesome the way I am and I'm happy to carry these scars with me. The same people who advised me on anti-pimple tips, now comment wonderful things on my photographs. They think that I have turned beautiful magically, but the truth is something else altogether. And they, still remain fools.

I am a narcissist. Experiences have made me so. I know I have the confidence to walk out tomorrow exposing my zits and scars. But today, I am not prepared to answer the questions that would come my way. When I was young I had learnt to respect elders. I do not think so anymore. No one can demand respect just because of their age. Today I would not avoid the question or be quiet about it. I will speak out my mind and it would only cause rifts. Probably that's why I have made make-up my second skin. A little concealer and powder and I feel sorted. And some kajal and I'm ready to roar. There are also those sets of people who mock others who use make-up to look and feel good. Of course not everyone is blessed enough to have wonderful blemish free skin. If you are blessed then well, good for you. Else, let the others do what they want to do.

I choose make-up over a surgery because that is what I want to do. I want to be reminded of my flaws every day when the make-up comes off. I do not want to turn into a vain person or believe that beauty rules the world. I have had handsome men fall madly in love with me irrespective of my skin troubles. Not everyone finds a girl who embraces her flaws. They liked that. My husband today loves me the way I am and understands my issues. People might make fun of me for wearing make-up everyday. I do not care. I shall do what I want to do. Because I know my problems and I also know that they will not understand it. I do not hide my flaws because I am insecure about myself or it affects my self esteem. The person I am resides inside of me and it has nothing to do with my skin or the make-up. I hide them to shut the mouths of other people. Earlier, I was naive enough to be mocked and ridiculed. Today I'd rather not give a chance for any of it.

You can think that I'm being a hypocrite here, you are free to think so.

"You could not kill Bill." The voice echoed in my ears for the tenth time.

I shut my eyes as I felt the failure seep through me. It was my fifth attempt at killing him and I couldn't do it yet. Raman Sir would not be pleased. He had given me a lot of money for this. How could I do wrong every single time? I finally regain my composure and look at Bill. He looked calm and composed smoking as he stood against the lamp post talking on the phone. This was my chance. I take aim and shoot.

Damn.

Bill ducked at the right minute as the phone slipped from his hand. The bullet hit the lamp post and sent some chips of cement in the air. Bill ran away. For the sixth time. I was ashamed and embarrassed. This had never happened to me. I always got my victim on the first shot. But somehow Bill always seemed to know how and when I would attack him. Strange. How could that be possible?

I look at the video game instructions once again, it did not say about any artificial intelligence. But how did Bill manage to escape every single time?

Yes I'm talking about the drunken high. The only mallu connection I probably have is that I love my drink and enjoy it. No sir, no mocktails and wine for me. Although I do enjoy wine along side a late night movie, I any day prefer rum over any other drink. Old monk with coke and lots of ice. I could kill for this combo. Cal turns out to be a Old monk loyalist too and the first time we met, we drank five larges each. I do not shy away from alcohol. Its not like I drink and fall on the streets everyday. I drink occasionally and I love it. Its a welcome break for me and I do not drink to get high and forget my sorrows. I have no sorrows. I drink to relax and I know how much I can handle. Cal has no problems with me drinking either. Its a win win situation for him, because now he does not have to depend on his boys to go out for a drink. His wife enjoys the same drink as him. What more can he ask for?

Alcohol is not a taboo and is definitely not an attribute of the rich. I know so many people who think that drinking costs a lot of money and only the high class can afford it. And then, there are those set of people who think that if you drink you must have a problem. If your relationship ends, then you must drink. If you are going through some serious issues at home, then you must drink. If you want to forget your past, then you must drink. What nonsense. What about drinking just for the sake of drinking? I drink to relax and unwind, what's the harm in that. And the other set of people that I cannot tolerate are those who cannot handle their drinks. Guys and girls alike. Those who say "I'm gonna drink like a fish tonight", more often than not end up puking after the first beer. And then we have those delicate beauties who trip on their heels after a breezer. I love watching these specimens.

The best kind that I like to watch are those who cannot handle their high. I have some friends who laugh non-stop when they get high. Laugh and laugh and laugh, until you choke and puke. Then there are people who get down the negative trip after a few drinks. "Why did he leave me yaar?", "Why doesn't she say yes to me macha?", "Why can't he understand?" etc etc. I mean why can't people contemplate on these things when sober. Then a few others I know, start singing and dancing non-stop. At the top of their voice. I mean I don't mind the dancing as much as the singing. At times it sounds like Honey Singh has been washing himself in the machine. Then comes the most dangerous kind. Those who suddenly grow balls and become a brave heart after a few sips. These people whip out their phones and more often than not call up their ex. Or an enemy. Phew! Hulk alert, everyone.

Drinking always gives a high, but the right amount gives a happy tingling sensation. And that's where I stop. I can walk in a straight line when drunk and talk sense just like I do when I'm sober. I can handle my high beautifully and do not need someone to help me down the stairs or into the car. I am very aware of with whom I am and what is happening. Still, I only prefer to drink in the company of my husband these days. There can be other people too, but my husband has to be there. Its a comfort factor. I have had some friends who get so high that they end up in bed with some random strangers. No, it does not happen only in movies. I have seen it happening in real life too. Its freaky as hell. I mean how can you not know what is happening to your body just because you are under the influence of alcohol? I fail to get an answer to this.

I've never had any problems with people who drink. Or smoke. Or dope. As long as it doesn't affect me I am fine with it. As long as they keep their high to themselves, I'd make excellent company. I've always believed in this, some people can stoop really low when they get high.

About The Blog

Every written word in this space is my thoughts alone. Do not try to relate it to your life and create a scene in my circles. Believe me, if I wanted to write about someone who has wronged me, I'd write a story and kill that person off in the first line. As grotesquely as possible.
Stop making assumptions. But hey, if the shoe fits, lace up the bitch and wear it!

My Reading Dose

I'd read a shorter version of this in school and loved it back then. Now after I read this, I still feel the same. The smartness of Portia and the way she handles the entire situation with wit is commendable.

This probably is one of those books where I've loved every word, every situation, every page and every character (except the mother). It is such a wonderful story that I can't stop thinking about it even though I have finished reading th...

How I wish I had read this book as a child. Coraline is a dreamer and an explorer in own words. I loved the tale that the author has created and this is a very good children's book. As an adult, I did not enjoy the imaginary world that C...

I only heard of this book when it won the award for the best fiction of 2017 on Goodreads. I had immediately added it to my TBR back then. After that I read many glowing reviews of this book from bloggers whose recommendations I immensel...

I loved this book. This talks about the true nature and color of humans without all the unicorn fluff! The author has given a fantastic realistic twist to the otherwise silly and far-fetched tales.
While 'The beans of avarice' is my fa...